Body Positivity

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Body Positivity movement lately. The prominent theme is to love your body, even if literally everyone is telling you that being fat is a crime against humanity. A lot of women I follow also go as far to say that you don’t even have to like your body every day, but love it for helping you exist.

I’ve always had issues with my body. I wasn’t always fat, but I was taller and broader than the other girls. That coupled with doctors constantly telling me that I was “too large” for my age, and unknowingly consuming fat-phobic media led to me thinking I was fat when I actually wasn’t. I even took part in fat-phobic bullying in an attempt to take the attention off of my own fatness. Those ideas (and a number of other childhood issues) led to me developing an eating disorder; which I am still dealing with thirty years later. It took me years to figure all of this out, and a few therapists to point out that yes, you can have an eating disorder and be fat. I put all of my worth into the way my body looked, and it didn’t look like everyone said it should.

A few years ago I think I reached a point where I was Ok with my body. I wasn’t worried about what other people would say or think, and I even felt cute. I found a nice guy, fell in love, got married etc. etc. It wasn’t always smooth sailing, but it was a lot better than it was. I’m not even sure I was accepting that my body was ok, I just had other things to focus on. I was also on better medication. At some point, I think after the wedding, the outright hatred of my body came back with a vengeance. It’s probably also related to my depression/anxiety getting a lot worse. It’s sometimes hard to tell until after it’s already declined.

What I’m trying to say is that it was getting better, and then it got a little bit worse, and then my body grew a tumor and tried to kill me :) So all body positivity kind of flew out the window and crashed into a tree. 

At this point, granted it is a rather low point, I don’t know if I will ever really love my body. As I’m typing this I am literally stitched and taped together and there are bruises all over the place. All because my body grew a 2” tumor, and the most efficient way to get rid of it is to destroy everything in its path. I have to get a very large and very painful shot in my stomach every month to suppress the function of my ovaries. My hormone medication gives me hot flashes and dries my skin out. My breasts are closer in size now, but still uneven, and the cancerous side is just...not a natural shape. There’s the possibility of going in for more surgery, but I’m afraid it will just always be a little off. 

I’ve just not been in a great place lately, if I’m being honest. I know that is expected, but I don’t like admitting it to myself or anyone else. I’m not ok. I do not want to leave my house. I do not want to be seen. I don’t want the added anxiety of having to go into an office to work every day: planning meals, changing schedules for training, and trying to be pleasant. 

Things would be much easier if I could just continue distracting myself with fictional characters.

But alas. Life gets in the way.

I suppose it's time for an update

 I've been meaning to type some more stuff up about this, but I just haven't really felt the motivation to do so. 

On Monday I had my real implant put in, and my other breast was reduced to match it. Everything hurts at the moment, but it's getting  better. My entire body is bruised, because they ended up doing some liposuction on my stomach to fill in the gaps for the implant. That probably hurts more than anything. 

My experience this time was a little frustrating. It was the same facility but I didn't really like the way I was treated by the nurses. I had to ask for a larger gown and they couldn't figure out what size compression socks to give me. Eventually a different nurse came in to help and get the correct size garments and then screamed at me to lift my legs up so she could put them on. Which, I was already doing. They also put the fucking IV in my hand again even though I asked them to put it somewhere else. They said that was the easiest place to put it. All of that lead to me crying in the prep room because I felt very fat and not great about myself. 

Dr. Horn and his staff and the anesthesiologist and his nurse were all very nice and helpful, thankfully.  

I remember waking up to one of the nurses from before and she gave me some ice chips and then I fell back asleep. She asked me if I'd gotten any sleep the night before, and joked about me taking a nap. Like, I'm on opiates?? That make you sleepy?? I tried to stay awake after that just to get out of the room.

Fortunately, my post op nurse was great. Her name was Dominique and I remember her from my last surgery, except she was my prep nurse then. She didn't yell at me and she knew the correct size to get and she didn't make me feel shitty at all. She made my and hubby laugh and she checked up on us and just generally knew how to do her job well and she is a precious human being. I got to leave about an hour after that. I was greeted with flowers and a unicorn plushie and crustless pizza from Papa Murphies. (We have to stay low carb for a bit so my blood sugar doesn't spike and I can heal properly).

I was able to take off my surgical bra yesterday (those things are the fucking devil) and I was able to shower today. I've mostly been sleeping, because I can't always stay awake. I do have a drain this time, but it's just one, and I'm hoping it won't have to stay in as long. I have a follow up with Dr. Horn tomorrow so he can take the bandages off and monitor everything. I'm sincerely hoping that they can take it out before I go back to work, because that's going to be an extra hassle. 

I was informed that I have to go back into the office at the end of this month, and it's caused me a lot of anxiety. To top that off, I have to change my schedule every week so I can train on every shift. Even if I wasn't in the process of healing my body, that would be a problem for me, since I can't even sleep well on my normal shift. And I have to eat regularly. I've expressed my concern, but the managers in charge don't seem to care. It was foolish of me to think that they would. They haven't even told me when my breaks would be, so I can at least plan out when I can eat.

I've been rather down lately because of that last bit, wanting to find something else to do with my life, but it's not really that easy. I need a job and I'm finally at a place where they are paying me OK money. I just wish it didn't trigger my anxiety so much. Plus, I need health insurance.